


with your hands in the air (waiting to finally be caught)

by 94louvehes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Coming of Age, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, I promise, I'm Sorry, I'm so bad at tagging, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Light Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Sad!Louis, Trigger Warnings, but not really?, gemma is the best sister really, harry is trying his best to help louis, it gets better as you go I swear, larry stylinson - Freeform, like a long drabble???, like implied possible suicide, louis is drowning, super light mention of suicidal thoughts?, there's kind of a plot?, this is a mess, this is really just me venting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 16:22:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13150437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/94louvehes/pseuds/94louvehes
Summary: Louis has always been sad, Harry knows this. But this is too much and Harry can't bear to hear him talk like the world wouldn't stop turning if he disappeared.Or, Harry and Louis have been in love since forever and Harry just wants to help.





	with your hands in the air (waiting to finally be caught)

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiii this is the first time I post anything on here so I'm sorry if this is really bad.  
> This story was supposed to be a very short drabble and well, it kind of spiraled so. I hope you enjoy this however you can. Also, this hasn't been edited, so please excuse any mistakes.
> 
> I own nothing besides this laptop and my typos. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING:  
> This story includes mentions of self harm, mental illness (mainly depression), panic attacks, and suicide. It's not too explicit but if these things might trigger you, proceed with caution or steer clear of this one. I'm always here to talk if you need it, stay safe please.

The first time Harry notices, they’re barely teens. Louis shows up at his bedroom window a little past noon with watery eyes and a wild smile that kinda scares Harry a whole lot.

“C’mon then, what are you staring for?” fifteen-year-old Louis inquires impatiently, extending his hand toward the younger boy. And maybe it’s because his best friend’s ocean eyes look more like a tub ready to spill over, or perhaps it’s simply because he would probably do anything Louis wanted him to do, but Harry climbs out the window without a question or hesitation.

Their hands are held firmly together, and even though Harry says nothing he silently notes that Louis smells a little less like Louis and a little more like smoke. They walk wordlessly for several minutes, and Harry worries (he always does) as his best friend hums and skips through the forest behind his house. But then Louis leads Harry down a familiar path and, before he has the chance to think of something to say, Louis is running wildly, undressing as he sprints toward the lake.

Harry watches wide-eyed as his friend dives in head first, concern leaving him covered in chills (or maybe it’s the frigid air’s doing).

“Louis! Have you lost your mind?! You- I- It’s the middle of winter! What are you- You’re going to freeze to death!” Harry rushes forward in a frenzy.

“Come in,” The older boy laughs. “It feels soooo good!”

“Lou, what are you on about, it’s nearly frozen- c’mon, please- please get out.”

“Hmm, sorry! Can’t! ’s too nice.” Louis’ breath is visible in the air as he laughs hysterically at Harry’s frightened expression. “Oh c’mon Haz, just try it! Please? For me?”

Harry swallows hard, shaking his head slightly. There was absolutely no way he would-

“Pleaseeeee,” Louis pouts, eyes glistening with such desperation that Harry could not imagine disappointing him. So, with a heavy sigh, the thirteen-year-old strips to his underwear, shivering as he tiptoes to the edge of the water.

The second his body touches the lake, Harry fills with regret. His nerves feel like they’re on fire, sending shooting pains through every inch of him. He reaches around, blindly, for something- anything- that might provide some sort of relief, some level of warmth to calm his violently shaking body.

Louis laughs once again, reaching his arm out to the alarmed boy.

“C’mere silly.” He whispers, pulling his best friend into his arms.

“L-Lou, it’s- it’s s-so cold.” Harry shakes, burying his head into Louis’ shoulder. Louis shakes his head against the curly one, pulling him impossibly closer.

“It feels like the sun!”

“Lou- please, let’s get out, please.” The younger boy tries miserably, speaking through shaking breaths. And because Louis sees the way Harry’s entire body looks like it could burst, or maybe because the liquid sunshine is finally starting to burn him, Louis nods with a smile.

With a sigh of relief, Harry untangles himself from the older boy, never letting go of his hand in fear that he otherwise may not follow closely behind him as he swims toward the edge. Louis does, of course, because how could he not when Harry is looking at him like his life depends upon it.

When they reach the shore, Harry gets out first, and he is reaching out to help Louis when he sees them. The thing is, if it were anyone else, he wouldn’t have noticed. But he knew Louis, knew every inch of his vanilla skin like it was burned into his eyelids. So it was inevitable, really, that he would notice the three tiny, angry red lines hidden on the inside of his arm. His breath hitches, and he’s not even sure why, really, because he doesn’t know what this means- doesn’t understand what really happened. He knows, though, that this isn’t okay, that Louis isn’t okay and that makes it hard to breathe.

Harry knows he should say something, anything, but when Louis makes it to shore he is smiling so wide and he looks a whole lot like a constellation and like nothing can bring him down, so Harry decides it can wait.

Instead, he smiles at his best friend and Louis pokes his dimple, whispering something about galaxies or comets or something of the like which he believes exists in the dent in Harry’s skin. And they don’t talk about it, but Harry has a feeling Louis knows. The way he is looking at Harry, silently pleading him to leave it, to not mention the way he is hurting, keeps Harry worrying silently as they walk back down the path, air nipping bitterly at their bare skin.

When they make it to Harry’s backyard, Louis struggles to light a fire while Harry runs inside for blankets and marshmallows. When he comes back out, Louis is naked and huddled by the furnace, poking at the fickle flames with a metal rod. For a moment, Harry smiles fondly at the sight, before draping a blanket over the older boy, who looks so very small in this light.

They roast marshmallows and talk about everything and nothing, but they don’t even tread near the topic of Louis’ spontaneous need to swim in the middle of December. Soon, Louis is sitting tiredly in Harry’s lap while the flames dance in pretty patterns across his face. Harry watches in awe, as well as he can from the awkward angle he is at, as his Louis gradually drifts off to sleep in his arms. And they never talk about it, but Harry’s tears fall steadily onto the top of Louis’ head until he too falls asleep, slipping into a nightmarish dream about bleeding skin and burning forests.

__________

The first time they talk about it, Harry is in no way prepared. They’ve been together, officially, for six months now (but really it’s been more like six years) and Louis is planning some grand celebration for them which he refuses to let Harry have any part in. He seems happier than he’s been in years though, so, save for a few instances of dramatic huffing and puffing, Harry is happy to let Louis surprise him with whatever it is that fills him with such excitement.

They’ve fallen into a sort of routine, where Louis stays home most days and takes care of “homey stuff” and pretends to look for jobs in the newspaper (his mom still sends him money for rent), while Harry goes to Uni and works part-time at a Starbucks down the street from their flat. It’s comfortable and safe and theirs and even though Harry is always worried about Louis, Louis is doing relatively well. And even though he isn’t always happy, he doesn’t get as sad as he used to.

For the weeks leading up to their anniversary, Louis spends his time with stars in his eyes, speaking in hushed voices into the phone and shooing away Harry’s questions with a smile that looks more like sunshine and promises that sound more like songs.

So it’s almost funny really, how fast things change. It’s a Friday night and Harry is supposed to be home by seven for whatever it is they’re doing and if he’s being completely honest, he’s never been so excited in his life.

His excitement is short-lived, however, because when he gets home after his evening class everything is burning, basically.

When he gets to the apartment, Harry is so jittery that he struggles and fumbles and drops the keys a handful times before he finally gets the door to unlock. He takes off his coat, hanging it on their bright pink, thrifted coat rack before calling out to his boyfriend (and yeah, maybe he smiles at the thought because, sue him, but his chest still fills with flutters every time he remembers that Louis is his boyfriend).

“Lou? I’m home! Where are you?”

Harry is met with silence, and his chest very quickly feels a lot like it did when he was thirteen and shivering in frozen lake water. It’s pathetic really, the way his entire body is on high alert in an instant. He swallows his worry though because Louis is probably just getting ready and he’s probably, most definitely, just overreacting.

“Lou?” He tries again, stepping deeper into their flat. He gets no response, though, and now the panic has made its way to Harry’s throat and he can’t really call out to Louis again so he ventures further instead.

He tries the bathroom first, hoping that he is right and Louis really is just lost in the process of getting ready, but the light is off and there doesn’t seem to be any indication that it’s been used at all. At this point, Harry knows Louis isn’t okay. He knows it and it hurts and he’s already angry at himself for not calling earlier to check up on him but he knows that right now he just needs to find his boyfriend.

And he does. He finds Louis in their bedroom, surrounded by broken glass and floating feathers, sprawled on a bed that is stained crimson. Harry knows he is awake, knows he’s conscious, but Louis doesn’t move a muscle when Harry cautiously sits by his side on their shared bed. Without a word, the younger pulls Louis into his arms, and the small boy falls limply against his chest.

Harry lets him lay there, tears soaking his shirt, for what feels like hours before he decides he can’t keep quiet any longer, not when his boyfriend is hurting so badly and not when he’s been hiding it so well.

“Lou, angel-I’m sorry. But you have to talk to me. Please Lou, what happened? Tell me what’s wrong, angel?” Louis lets out something between a whine and a meek attempt at a protest, but Harry can’t let it go, not again.

“I know Lou, I know you don’t want to but- I’m scared Lou, you-you need help, angel. And I need you to talk to me so we can help you feel better, yeah?” Harry tries in the softest tone he can muster. He is holding back tears, it’s obvious, but he is really hoping Louis doesn’t notice because this isn’t about him and he needs to focus on helping the broken boy that is so desperately clinging to him.

Louis looks up at Harry through shining lashes and nods his head ever so slightly, as if he isn’t even sure he’s agreeing until Harry perks up subtly, giving him a small, warm smile.

“Okay,” Harry whispers, more to assure himself than anything. “Okay, whenever you’re ready love. We’ll just sit here together until you’re ready to talk, okay?”

And he knows it’s not- Harry knows it can’t possibly be okay when Louis is still bleeding and he looks like contentment is an entirely unfamiliar feeling. But he needs this to be enough, for now, and he has never felt such immense relief as he does when Louis nods against his sporadically beating chest.

Thirty minutes pass before Louis makes any move to speak, and when he finally clears his throat, Harry allows his heart to swell at the way Louis’ hands move into the sleeves of Harry sweater as if to ground himself before he can begin.

“Sometimes I-Sometimes it feels like there’s nothing inside me,” Louis mumbles into the dark. Harry tightens his hold on the smaller boy, but he doesn’t say anything. “And like- I look at you and you’re so wonderful and there’s so much light and it’s like you swallowed the sun.”

And then Harry’s breath hitches because it’s not fair. It’s not okay that Louis doesn’t see the galaxies that spill over when he smiles or the way his laughter can move mountains and Harry is shaking his head before he realizes it.

“Lou-”

“Wait I- I’m not finished.” So Harry bites his tongue no matter how hard it is not to tell Louis he is the moon.

“Sometimes I want to feel like I can burn that bright and I just-this is the only way I know how.” Louis gestures toward his aching arms and Harry can physically feel himself crumbling. He lets out a strangled sob because it’s all too much. He can’t hear him talk about tearing himself apart like it will make him brighter; he just-Louis’ got it so twisted and Harry feels sick. Because Harry has always known Louis was sad but this is too much and Harry can’t bear to hear the boy he loves (and he always had) talk about himself like he meant nothing, like the world wouldn’t stop turning if he disappeared.

“Lou- No. I-you don’t understand how bright of a light you are to me.” Harry says lamely, and Louis is already shaking his head in protest.

“No Lou, listen to me, angel. You are everything to me.” Harry tries again. “I don’t remember life without you and I refuse to accept that I will ever have to live it that way. We’re going to get through this, Lou. I promise.”

Louis doesn’t say anything, but, even if just in that moment, he believes Harry. He knows that, to Harry, these things are truer than anything else in their universe. And maybe he doesn’t believe it himself, but he knows that Harry will not give up on him, on them, until he does. They can only hope that it will be enough.

________

It isn’t supposed to happen this way, is the thing. Harry doesn’t really know what’s happening at all anymore, honestly. How could he, really, when things are crumbling in every direction.

He couldn’t pinpoint the moment when everything had shifted, but both boys felt the bitterness within the walls that once made them feel so warm.

Louis was supposed to be better. It had been a long time since Louis had done this, since he had built walls in the dark and left them up when the sun rose so that Harry could not see the storms in his eyes.

And Harry was supposed to understand. He knew how Louis got sometimes (rarely anymore, really), and he knew that it was never personal, even when he would scream and cry and tell Harry to just leave already, god dammit.

The thing is, they were supposed to be harryandlouis, against even the strongest of riptides, no matter what kinds of forces the moon created to work against them. It was the only thing that had always been true. And for a long time, longer than either of them gave themselves credit for, they had been.

Harry had always known when Louis needed him to wipe away his tears on the sleeves of his too-big sweaters, and for awhile Louis was good about letting him. Even when it was midnight, and Louis was trying his very best to cry silently, he always let Harry cocoon him and whisper reassurances into his ear when the younger boy inevitably awoke.

There were good times too, happy days where Louis would gather up picnic supplies and drag Harry to the park by their flat. They would lay together by the pond and Louis would trace waves onto Harry’s face while Harry told stories about the two quacking ducks at their feet and the fact that they probably (most definitely) were married and arguing about who would have to take the ducklings to school the next day. Louis would laugh and shake his head, but unfailingly argue that it would be the mom, it would always be. Harry loved those days more than anything, and took them whenever they came, even though it sometimes meant he’d miss a shift at work and have to work longer hours to make up for it.

Now, everything was wrong again. Harry couldn’t begin to understand why Louis’ eyes never looked like their lake anymore, and Louis was slowly letting himself drown in an ocean of his own doing, drifting further and further away from the green eyes that used to feel like home.

It’s a frigid afternoon in March when everything comes crashing down on them.

At some point after Harry’s twenty-first birthday, he starts coming home from work each day so exhausted that he can barely see straight. Harry is tired of being a barista, Louis can see this, and he is growing increasingly irritable with each shift he works at the stupid Starbucks down the street.

Meanwhile, Louis starts leaving the house less and less until he doesn’t at all. Each day that Harry spends working miserably to make ends meet, Louis spends falling into himself, unable to leave his bed. Then, when his mother stops sending money for rent, Louis’ guilt becomes far too much to bear.

It’s a disaster waiting to happen at this point, really, but neither of them is ready to admit it.

Things fall apart faster than Harry can process them. He gets home from a particularly rough day at work and all he wants is to take a warm bath, order takeout, and watch crappy TV while he cuddles with his boyfriend.

He smiles tiredly when he smells Louis’ vanilla candles as he ventures into the foyer, carelessly stepping out of his shoes. His keys clink loudly against the small glass table by the door and Harry flinches at the way the sound echoes in his aching head. Harry thinks if he doesn’t knock back an aspirin and get into the bathtub within the next thirty seconds he might actually die. And sure, maybe he’s a little melodramatic, but his head is about to burst and he doesn’t want to think about rude customers anymore.

And he should have noticed, really, that when he passes the bedroom the lights are off and somewhere in the unmade bed his boyfriend is choking on his tears. But Harry just-he needs a break sometimes, too. So, oblivious to Louis’ sobs, he fills the tub with warm water and bath salts, settling into a stillness which he readily welcomes after an exhaustingly chaotic day.

The warmth escapes him all too soon though, because through the serene silence Harry hears his least favorite sound in the world and his body tenses and chills instinctively. With a frown (and worry lines that on good days Louis would tease and compare to ocean currents between his eyebrows), Harry quickly wraps himself in a towel, leaving the tub to be dealt with later.

Once he is relatively dry and dressed in a robe, his damp feet pad noisily along the hardwood floors as he makes his way toward his and Louis’ bedroom, ready and willing to shower his angel with love until he feels okay enough to talk again.

The first thing Harry does when he enters the dark room is assess the damage. He doesn’t spot any blood or Louis’ Achilles heel in the form of sharp metal, and the room is relatively intact, so Harry takes it as a small victory because otherwise, he wouldn’t survive this.

Cautiously, because (even though Louis hates that Harry feels this way) the older boy is all porcelain and gold and any sudden movement can break whatever piece of him is left, Harry sits on the edge of the bed. He places a gentle hand on the small of Louis’ back to ease him into this, but the trembling boy flinches away. Harry swallows the hurt because really, his hands are probably just cold.

“Lou, honey. Tell Harry what’s wrong, yeah?” Harry whispers, and it sounds more like velvet and home. Louis doesn’t budge though, so Harry tries again.

“I just wanna help, love. Please talk to me?”

Nothing. The third time Louis ignores him, Harry is already tugging at the roots of his hair because god dammit, he’s so tired and he loves Louis so much it hurts and he just wants to help. He doesn’t give up though, because that’s not what they do. That’s not how this is supposed to work.

“Love, c’mon. Talk to me angel, I’m trying my best but I need you to let me help.”

Louis still doesn’t answer and honestly, Harry can’t take this- not today. He is already worn so unbelievably thin and this is the last straw, really. And he knows it’s not fair, he knows Louis deserves more patience than this, knows Louis is trying his very best but he can’t see that in the moment and he’s standing up in frustration before he can help himself.

“Christ, Louis I- I don’t know what you want me to do anymore!” And he should’ve stopped there really, but Louis still ignores him and then he loses it.

“I can’t deal with this anymore! This- you’re too much for me to handle!” He doesn’t know why he says it, and the second it’s out of his mouth he wants to grab the words out of thin air and shove them down his throat until he chokes on them.

Louis sits up, finally, but his eyes look like they’ve seen wars and Harry wants to die. Harry wants to give Louis the sun and all the stars and every beautiful flower as an apology but mostly he just wants to stop breathing right now because watching Louis fill with hurt that he inflicted is too much.

“Lou-”

“Leave, then,” Louis says, and it’s so quiet that Harry isn’t quite sure he heard correctly.

“What?”

“If I’m such a god damned burden, leave.” And then, Harry has never felt so much pain in his life. Because- this isn’t supposed to happen this way. They’re supposed to fight for each other. He’s fought so hard, for so long, and Louis isn’t supposed to give up, not over this. And before he knows what he’s saying-

“If you’re so ready to give up on this, maybe I should.”

Then Louis is radio silent and Harry has always been impulsive so before either of them has really had a chance to breathe, the door is slamming behind the younger boy and both boys are knocked to the ground by the aftershock.

______

One day turns into three and then Harry doesn’t come home for a week. Gemma, god bless her, spends the first five days snuggling with her distraught baby brother on her couch and reassuring him that Louis is fine but by the sixth day that Louis doesn’t call, she is getting worried too.

She doesn’t want to push Harry, really it’s the last thing she wants, but she’s known Louis since he was Harry’s sandbox buddy fifteen years ago and she would never forgive herself if something happened to him. So, when a whole week passes with no word from the older boy, she knows she needs to get Harry to go check on him.

Harry is a mess (it’s the understatement of the year, honestly), all sprawled out across his sister couch with more tissues than Gemma has seen in her lifetime scattered about him when she finally approaches him.

She sits down by Harry’s head and he instinctively moves to lay on her lap, curling up as close to her as possible. Gemma’s hands find their place in his hair and she smiles softly when he sighs in content. It’s the first time in a week that he’s looked this relaxed and it almost kills Gemma to have to ruin that.

“Haz, you know how much I love you. And I always want you to be happy above anything else, but babe-” Gemma pauses momentarily because she doesn’t even want to speak her thoughts into existence but- “We both know how he gets. And I know it’s not your responsibility but- I just don’t want you to regret not checking up on him, y’know?”

And Harry whimpers because yes, he does know. He knows and he doesn’t tell Gemma that the only reason he’s still on her couch is that he’s far too terrified of what he will find when he goes home, but he knows it.

It takes a while, and lots of hugs and encouragement from his sister (who he owes the world to at this point), but Harry eventually manages to get himself up and into the bathroom to clean up a bit. He brushes his teeth and washes his face lazily, but he really can’t be bothered to do much else. When he peeks at his reflection in the mirror, he almost doesn’t recognize the boy with purple under-eyes and bleeding lips staring back at him. With trembling hands and shaky breaths, Harry turns off the light and heads down the hallway to grab his keys and wallet.

Gemma meets him at the door and embraces him one more time before he steps out into the world for the first time in a week. And really, Harry’s not even being dramatic when he flinches as the sunlight pierces his face. He feels nauseous and the warmth isn’t helping and he has to close his eyes and count to twenty before he regains enough balance to walk to his car.

The drive back home is sickeningly familiar and it passes way too fast. He turns off the ignition when he pulls into the lot, but he stays in the car for what feels like days and Harry has never wanted to slow time more than he does right now because he really isn’t prepared for what he’s about to find. He’s expecting the worst really, and if he’s being quite honest he thinks this place will feel more like death than home. When he steps out of the car he has every intention to head in, but his stomach lurches at the image that paints itself in his head and he is vomiting on the sidewalk before he even processes what’s happening.

Twenty minutes pass before Harry is able to breathe properly again, and he spends them familiarizing himself with every crack in the pavement. He laughs bitterly at some point because of fucking course his mind would devise some hideous metaphor about the broken concrete and the boy with a fleeting heartbeat who he prays is waiting upstairs. With a huff, he finally gets himself to stand and, ready for the anxiety to vacate his poor chest already, he heads home.

And well, to say he was right would be a stretch but Harry is truly in no way prepared for what he finds. The house smells like warm cookies and fresh linen and there are rose petals scattered neatly on the floor and Harry is sure he must have stepped into heaven by accident. Harry is standing in the doorway, doe-eyed and breathless, when Louis emerges shyly from the kitchen with his sleeves pulled over his hands and his eyes cast downward.

Neither of them dares to break the silence, and Harry thinks he might faint when he finally catches up with reality and he realizes that Louis is alive. Louis is alive and not unconscious and functioning and he did this for him. He whimpers softly before he’s crashing into his boyfriend’s arms and drenching Louis in tears and apologies.

Harry’s trying, feebly, to tell Louis how sorry he is and how much he loves him and how glad he is that he is still here but he really can’t breathe and he’s wheezing and Louis really needs him to calm down.

“Haz, I know- I know, I love you too. Hey, I need you to breathe for me love, yeah? Nice, deep breaths for Lou, okay?”

And Harry is trying his best to focus on his breathing but he keeps remembering that Louis stayed even after the ugly things Harry said to him and he can’t- he just-

“Harry, look at me please, babe. Put your hand on my chest- that’s it. Breathe with me, love, nice and easy.”

This is all so backwards and Harry isn’t used to being the one who needs help but his lungs are burning and he knows he needs air so he tries to forget everything and just focus on the rising and falling of Louis’ chest.

It takes a minute, but Harry manages to get his breathing even again. He’s exhausted and he really just wants to fall asleep in Louis’ arms but he knows they need to talk, so he complies when Louis gently guides them to the couch.

The older boy gets up and Harry panics for a second but before he can even say anything Louis is already walking back into the living room with a glass of water, holding it expectantly to Harry’s lips.

Harry drinks greedily and if this were any other situation Louis probably would’ve teased him for it, but instead his blues watch in concern.

“Need more?” He asks and it’s barely audible really. Harry shakes his head and thanks him before clearing his throat.

“Lou,” He starts, struggling not to dissolve into tears again. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said such a horrible thing and I shouldn’t have left- I should’ve come back sooner- I just, I understand if you hate me but just-”

“Harry.”

“Know that if I could take it back I would in a heartbeat and I just-”

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis says exasperatedly, and really he just wants to kiss the deep frown lines off of Harry’s face because he has done _so_ much for him and Louis can’t bear to listen to him beat himself up anymore. “Stop. I don’t hate you- I could never. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

Harry goes to protest because Louis is the moon and he can do no wrong and he really doesn’t want him to apologize for being sad because it’s not his fault, Harry knows this. Louis isn’t going to stop though, so Harry listens.

“You’ve given up so much for me-for us and you were just trying to help and I- I was a dick. I shouldn’t have ignored you, you try so hard and I just- I just make it harder than it has to be and I’m so sorry.” And then Louis is crying a bit because he loves Harry so much and he can’t believe how unappreciative he's been and he really screwed up.

But Harry isn’t having it, not even a little. “Lou, no. I haven’t given anything up. I have you and that’s all I want. Just, stop talking like you’re a speck of dust and I’m some fucking God or something, for fuck’s sake. You are so significant Lou, and I’m sorry I made you think you were anything but a privilege in my life.”  
They’re both crying at this point, how could they not be, and Louis is kissing Harry’s tears away as they fall. And even though everything isn’t okay yet, and there’s still so much to work through, Harry is home and Louis can’t believe how lucky he is.

It’s so fitting, really, that they both feel so incredibly small in one another’s arms as they drift off between kisses on the couch. Harry falls asleep with his entire world in his arms and dreams of two kids drawing happy faces on each other’s shoes in the schoolyard and really, nothing has ever felt so right.

And Louis is still drowning sometimes but it's a hopeful kind of drowning. It's the kind of drowning that makes him want to come up for air.


End file.
